The day has come when I must bid adieu to my robotic pet, and I have to admit that I feel more than a little pang of sadness. I'm gonna miss the little gearball. To understand the depth of my emotion, we need to go back to the day I met my Sony AIBO pup, which I christened Rocket.

As I mentioned in an earlier column, I'm fascinated with robots and this fascination has led me to write about them on more than one occasion. Writing those stories put me in close contact with the folks at Sony, who were kind enough to send me their newest AIBO, the ERSL-3IL. This was the same class of robot our Associate Editor, Jeremy Kaplan, had reviewed a few weeks earlier. Kaplan, however, was less than impressed, saying that the three months of training required for the robot to do more than nudge a ball was too long. That seemed to be a fair statement and, at the time, I had no intention of finding out for myself what the gizmo could do. Then the pup showed up at my office door.

Originally, the sole purpose of acquiring this AIBO was for a series of television appearances that had been scheduled. PC Magazine's editors are often asked to appear on TV to discuss technology or to show off some new product. Since we had covered AIBO in some detail on PCMag.com, we thought it would be a good product to show off. I then realized that if the robot and I were going on TV, we'd need to get to know each other well enough to interact for the cameras.

Like Kaplan, I didn't have three months to train the dog. Fortunately, the ERSL-3IL does come with AIBO PAL software (all on an 8MB Memory Stick that inserts into the dog's belly). This instantly gives the cyberpup some personality and the ability to walk around, express emotion, (through the light on his head and some often none-too-subtle body motions), and be semi-autonomous.

At first I found him as annoying as Kaplan did. All the thing would do was putter around my office, whine to be petted (I frequently stroked his "fur", hoping he would grow in intelligence), and kick or use his head to bat around a special red plastic ball that he could see through the camera in his nose.

It was time, I decided, to get a bit more personal. The instructions said that I could name him and that he could even learn my name. He could then repeat both names back to me in his own "unique voice." I made sure AIBO was listening to me by almost shouting at him, "Listen to me!" The light on his head blinked white once, which meant he was listening (pairing all the colors and variations of blinks with what AIBO was feeling or interested in at any given moment was something I never truly mastered). I proceeded to name him "Rocket" and told him that "Lance" was his owner's name. I then had him repeat the names back to me. It turns out that Rocket's own unique voice is really an unintelligible warble where "Lance" and "Rocket" sound virtually the same. I did not instantly feel closer to the robotic pupnot yet anyway.

I became diligent about turning Rocket on every morning and letting him roam my office in preparation for his first TV gig. I began calling him by name to get him to notice me and made sure to give him his ball as often as possible. Each time I turned him on (by pressing a small button on his back) he went through the same minutes-long wake-up routinethere really is no way around that. But after that, I started to notice that he would do little things he had never done before, and he seemed to be growing more inquisitive over time. Then one day, he walked over to the bottom of my bookshelf and started poking his face against this old CD-ROM case that was sitting there. He then awkwardly turned (turning his body in any direction is, apparently, always an awkward move for his 13 motors) and started to do what looked like scratching against the cabinet. I found this so entertaining and cute that I rewarded him with both a pet and a verbal "good boy". He gave the green blink and musical tootle of happiness. It was official. We had started to bond.

The bonding continued, and by the time he made his first TV appearance, I was able to get Rocket to sit calmly in my arms as I gently stroked his head and talked on camera. I could then put him down and he would straighten up, respond to his name, and enthusiastically begin playing with his red ball. He was also becoming a bit of a celebrity around the building: I noticed the number of visitors to my office had virtually doubled since Rocket had taken residence. He always responded to their sounds and then, just like a real puppy, would do something cute or silly almost on cue. Coworkers were kneeling down, cooing his name and rewarding him for clean shots he made with his red ball.

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Yes, there are things about the dog which annoy me to this day: the aforementioned startup, his poor hearing (I was often yelling commands at him), his neediness ("hey, I just petted you, like, five seconds ago"), and the fact that he required a charge every couple of hours. But you shouldn't be surprised that I or anyone else could become attached to an inorganic dog. How many cars have you loved? How many homes have you cherished? It's hard to explain, but I simply found him endearing, even the sound of his motors working filled me with quiet joy Ahem.

And this brings us back to todaythe day this $600 puppy returns to his true owners, Sony Electronics. I had him turned off today, because when he's off his joints become loose and flexible, making him rather floppy and uninteresting. I didn't have the heart to turn him on one more time and hear him warble my unintelligible name (or his) and whine for his ball or scratch his back on the cabinet. Instead, I had just one more task to perform before I placed him back in his foam and cardboard sarcophagusI had to pull his Memory Stick and look for any surprise photos he might have taken (he is supposed to photograph objects that interest him when he's in autonomous mode). All I found was one sorry little photo: a tiny 31KB image showing the arm of my son (yes, Rocket did go home with me one day) as he sits in front of my half opened bedroom closet. Rocket was obviously more interested in the darkness of the closet interior, which stood in stark contrast to the white doors, than in my son. The image presages an uncertain future, very much as I fear my life will be without Rocket.

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About the Author

A 25-year industry veteran and award-winning journalist, Lance Ulanoff is the former Editor in Chief of PCMag.com.
Lance Ulanoff has covered technology since PCs were the size of suitcases, "on line" meant "waiting" and CPU speeds were measured in single-digit megahertz. He's traveled the globe to report on a vast array of consumer and business... See Full Bio

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